A Brief History (the Bad Parts version)

NOTE: This piece goes to some dark places where humor just doesn’t live. I’ll forgive you if you don’t read it, but I think it’s important because it’s about some of the really awful stuff that happens to girls and women in the U.S. and around the world. It’s my personal story of serial abuse and…social conditioning, for lack of a better phrase. This blog is my way of countering misogynistic attitudes and messages, and this story is nearly everything that led me to the place I stand as I begin it. [Please consider this a trigger alert for multiple topics.]

I’m overwhelmed.

By the barrage of crazy coming from every form of media every day. By all the anger and violence toward women. By all the ways the world has told me my entire life that my gender was somehow the lesser of two. Subtle messages, and constant, between the lines, that said I was lucky to be born so late in the century–the 20th century, for heaven’s sake!–that these battles had long ago been fought and soundly won. Suffragettes had suffered, bras had burned by the thousands, armpits and legs had gone unshaven for my freedoms. We are woman, hear us roar.

Subtle messages like some stuff is “for” girls and other stuff is “for” boys. Like boys get into trouble and girls are good and polite. Like girls are supposed bait the proverbial hook to “catch” a boy, and boys are supposed to avoid being “caught.” Like a boy’s job is to “score,” and a girl’s job is to play defense.

And there were less subtle messages, too. These messages, these moments, do not define my life. But they do serve as an outline when I consider what a hostile world this is for girls and women.

By age 9 I had been molested multiple times by multiple pedophiles. Relatives, family friends, neighbors… It turns out you don’t have to look very far to find a pedophile in this world. I learned too much too soon and I had no idea what to do with the information. I was troubled after the first incident (series of incidents) at age 4, and pretty confused by the second at 5, downright scared by the third at 6. By 9 I wasn’t even surprised anymore, and they somehow knew that I was the perfect victim. A family “friend” was visiting regularly at this point and playing his little games and I hated it but I felt powerless to stop him. I was so terrified of the trouble I’d be in if my mom found out that I worked myself into a state of utter emotional turmoil until one day when she came to yell at me about something completely unrelated I lost it–screamed and shook and sobbed until she finally dragged the truth out of me.

These trucks still creep me out.

When I was 10 and on my way to the local shopping center (back in the days when parents let 10-year-olds walk anywhere unattended) on a stretch of empty highway between my housing development and the mall walking against traffic like I’d been taught, an old Ford truck passed me and pulled over a little way up the road. I told myself I was imagining things when I saw the driver watching me in his rearview mirror. And when I came up alongside his truck across the two barren lanes of traffic he opened the truck door. He was completely naked, and flopped one leg lazily out as he masturbated, staring at me. I had been down this road before and I was fucking terrified. I turned and ran as fast as I could past empty houses to my street and stopped at my friend’s house, hysterical. Her mother laughed. I was really starting to get the feeling it was just me.

As a pre-teen, it wouldn’t be long before the neighborhood boys would introduce me to “pantsing,” or forcible removal of my pants and underwear by multiple boys, each one stronger than me, in front my friends. This is wrong on so many levels, but let’s just cover a few: 1) I knew damned well that I didn’t like it when the boys ganged up and took my pants off. 2) As humiliating as it was, I never cried. I learned very early on that to complain about it was to invite ridicule not just from the boys, but from the girls. There I’d be, the solitary person in the room who thought it was a Big Deal when clearly it wasn’t and what was wrong with me, anyway. 3) As an adult, when I talk to other women about it, we all agree that it was terrifying and humiliating and tantamount to bullying at least and sexual assault at worst, and none of us knows why we didn’t (couldn’t) tell someone and make it stop. (Does this still go on? Google shows me laughing people in their underwear.)

At 12 I was raped by a 14-year-old neighborhood kid who was known for being a bad boy. I lived in a poor suburb of Sacramento and us kids built forts in our backyards to entertain ourselves in the summertime. Me and two girl friends were in the fort behind my next-door neighbor’s house with the bad boy smoking pot. My girl friends left. I never saw it coming. One moment we were sitting there smoking a joint, the next I was on the ground and he was lying on top of my saying, “Shut up or I’ll hit you in the head with this hammer.” I clenched every muscle in my body until he finished. I don’t think he enjoyed it. He walked with me to my backdoor, and I think it was locked. He said something to me. I don’t remember what. I walked in the front door and through the living room, which was dark. My mom and brothers were watching tv. I put my hand up to my face as I walked through and hoped my mom wouldn’t see me–that I was crying, or had been, or what a mess my makeup was, or something. I don’t remember thinking anything but how can I get through this room. Then she asked if I was ok and just like when I was 9 I lost it and she had to drag the truth out of me one more time. I cringe when I remember the ensuing horror show that was my neighborhood’s reaction, the investigation and lawyer prep, and the trial that I dreaded for months and which ended in a verdict that validated the public defender’s stuttered accusations: “Isn’t it true that you cried rape because you were afraid you were pregnant?” (Um. I was pre-menstrual. But don’t let the facts get in the way of a good story.)

Judged.

Even he seemed to know on some level that the whole thing was a setup. I was only 12, so they couldn’t make me look like a slut, but they could cast doubt on me, question what possible motive I might have to falsely accuse the poor defendant (who admitted to having sex and later served time for statutory rape, meaning his only crime was sex with a minor), the fact that no one heard me scream (because I really wanted that ball-peen hammer to the temple), whether I did or did not seem, to the people they interviewed, to be distraught enough in the days following the incident. What’s amazing to me about writing this is that I don’t remember anyone fighting for me other than my mom and my cousin Danny who left my house in the dark of that night with a baseball bat as I sat in the kitchen sobbing (he came back frustrated with a clean bat). I know there must have been someone, but I have this sense when I look back that I was the one on trial; that I was the poor sap with the crappy public defender.

When I was 14 I went to my first kegger. My mom thought I was going to “a little get-together.” I got drunk and passed out. The next day someone told me that two guys had screwed me while I was unconscious. No one thought this was particularly wrong. Everyone was drunk. They were just being guys. I just tried not to think about it. It probably wasn’t the last time. I try not to think about that, either.

Given all this, it probably won’t surprise you to learn that I became a promiscuous teen. You know that girl in high school everyone calls “slut”? That was me. I started out looking for what sex was supposed to be (True Love!), but what it amounted to was giving in to every guy I had a crush on because I thought that was what I was supposed to do. It was what they wanted, so if I did, they’d like me, right? Instead every guy at my school had the idea that I should sleep with him because I’d slept with one or more of his friends.

This is what I wanted that phone to look like. I wasn’t strong enough.

By 16 I was “in love” with a guy who barely tolerated me, but now and then he’d be nice to me and I’d fall all over myself to do anything he wanted–including servicing him in front of his friends. I followed him around like a dog, and he treated me like one. Miserable, on the street (a habitual runaway) going from one bad situation to another, one night I sat soaking wet in a convenience store parking lot and a family of Mormons rescued me and took me in for a couple of weeks. It was a bit like hitting a reset button as I saw what life was like in a completely new environment. Soon I was ready to “turn over a new leaf,” as my dad put it when he made arrangements for me to go to Dallas, Texas and live with his stepfather, an elderly judge who had no idea what to do with a teenage girl and whose strategy for dealing with disagreements consisted of sitting there laughing at me as I grew increasingly frustrated with him. Angry and bored out of my mind in the middle of summer I went out looking for interesting people to meet. On one of my first outings, outside a drug store, a man pulled up next to me in his car and stopped, one hand on the wheel and the other massaging his penis. About a week later, when two young black men pulled over and chatted me up, I was flattered, and after a bit of coaxing (with one of them showing me his ID and both promising I’d come to no harm, we were going to have a grand time) I got in their car. And we partied. For a few hours, it was a fascinating experience. They took me home and someone’s sister fawned over me. I met a bunch of little kids. Then we went out to a bar where every single head turned toward me like that scene from Blues Brothers and a man on the way in muttered something about “y’all bringin’ Snow White around here” under his breath as he glanced nervously up and down the road. There was music and alcohol. There were drugs. Then it was back to the apartment where everyone was fast asleep and it was time for me to put up. I begged and pleaded, but I didn’t fight. I cried as quietly as I could (so as not to wake up Sis and the kids) and later when he dropped me off at yet another convenience store, I called home and my drunk uncle was over and answered the phone and called me a fucking cunt. The next thing I remember is several people pulling me off the pay phone as I did my best to beat it to death with the receiver, screaming my rage. And the cops asking me why I didn’t use my knife. Against a man twice my size. Lucky for me, I forgot I even had one. I never got it–or anything–from the cops or the system. Somewhere, probably still in Dallas, a man who once went by the name of Charles Ray “Chuckie Ray” Smith might still be walking around free to rape at will, but is very likely dead and buried at the hands of someone’s loved one avenging something very like the crime he committed against me, for which he never even stood trial.

All I can say about this list up to this point is Thank. Fucking. God. AIDS wasn’t a thing yet.

Soon after that, I got pregnant, and not on accident. My life up to then had been a series of after-school specials from hell, and I wanted a change, but the change the adults in my life were serving up was not working for me. When an acceptable candidate made himself available, I counted the days from my period to maximum fertility and I made damned sure he put a baby in my belly. Then he bought me a ticket home to California and I didn’t see him again until my daughter was 9 (which was ok with me). I moved in with my mom, stepdad, and three younger brothers. One night just after dark I rode my brother’s bike over to my cousin’s house a few blocks away. When I saw a man up ahead that I knew for a FACT I had passed just moments ago, I knew he had come around the block for me. I had almost no time to think about it, and as I neared he reached out for my handlebars. Out of breath and utterly terrified, a sound erupted from my throat that I have never made before or since. The words I tried to say were, “GET AWAY FROM ME!” but I sounded wild, primal, like a crazy person. He jerked his hands back and said, “Okay, gah!” Like he was the victim.

Life settled down a lot after my daughter was born. I focused on being a mother, and for a little while, that was enough. But I wanted my True Love. And when I was 18, I believed I’d found him. He was amazing. Handsome, successful, smart, funny, and 35 years old. My friends and I saw nothing wrong with that. We all wanted him. But he wanted me. I was the lucky winner. Within a year I’d moved back to Texas with him and was keeping his house and caring for his 12-year-old son along with my daughter, now about 2. I don’t even know anymore how long it took for things to get bad–maybe 6 months–but one night after a party I’d left early because he pissed me off, he came home and started in on me, first with his hands, and then with a paint scraper. All things being relative, he didn’t hurt me badly. Just badly enough that I knew damned well if I could get out of that room I’d never come back. He let me get my daughter from down the hall, and when someone knocked on the front door and he went to answer it, I took her and ran out the back. I ended up in a shelter and within a couple of days I went back to my abuser because I had no local support and no money to go anywhere else, and some well-meaning-but-misguided types advised me that it was his job (my abuser’s) to finance my return home to California. This bought me another month or so before his next blow-up, but this time we escaped without incident and didn’t go back. I showed up in the middle of the night on the front porch of my grandfather’s house in Waco and introduced myself. “Mr. Abney, I’m your granddaughter.” We stayed a few days, and he cashed his Social Security check and put us on a plane. I never saw him again.

In many ways I feel like I experienced a lot of bad things so my daughter wouldn’t have to. I taught her right away that predators were out there and that she should never hesitate to scream, kick, run, and tell someone if anyone ever did something she didn’t like. And when, inevitably it now seems, she found herself in a situation where someone crossed the line, she knew that the boundary was hers to set and protect and she knew to tell someone.

Jump ahead to my 30s, when I found myself single after a long period and in a new town. One night out drinking, I overindulged and passed out in someone’s apartment only to wake up with him on top of me doing his thing. All these years later, it was still that easy to wind up with someone’s penis inside me uninvited. Because I got too drunk and passed out. (For those of you still unclear on the concept: No means no. Unconscious and/or unable to form words means no. No matter who you are, you are not entitled to take your sexual pleasure/rage/power-trip out on someone else’s body no matter what stupid-ass mistake they make.)

As I write this list–and I have long needed to–more and more incidents occur to me. Some I insert into the timeline. Others I don’t. Some seem trivial, hardly worth mentioning. Some I can’t write about. Some involve people I care about who might be hurt by the content. Even I am amazed seeing all this written down in one place. These events scarred me in a number of ways, I’m sure, and fed into each other, perpetuating a cycle. But they also taught me that my worth was tied up in the fact that I was a sexual object, and that worth wasn’t much. And that the world is a very hostile place, especially for girls and women.

I’m far from alone in these experiences. Get a group of five women together, and if they’re being honest, 3 or 4 of them will tell you they’ve lived through one or more of the above scenarios. Not to mention the one thing nearly every woman has experienced in one way or another (and many encounter all day, every day): unwanted sexual attention. Why do some men think it’s ok to approach women and bother them simply because they find them attractive? What’s with the entitlement? Because make no mistake, women who don’t respond well to this sort of attention often go from “beautiful” or “my future ex-wife” to “bitch” or even “cunt” in about two seconds flat. The fact that men are, by and large, bigger and stronger than women turns this scenario from annoying to terrifying in the same span, which brings me to the third lesson the bullet points above taught me: most men are stronger than I am and if they want something from me, they have the power to take it.

Hey, baby. Nice ass. What? I’m just being friendly.

If you’re a woman, chances are you understand on some level what that feels like. If you’re a man, just give it some thought. Imagine that your counterparts on this planet, rather than the “weaker sex,” are on average several inches taller and 50-150 pounds heavier than you and comparatively very strong. Now imagine that some of them are predators. And some of them seem harmless enough, but they just won’t leave you alone–and what if they’re not harmless? (I know small guys get bullied by big guys, but this is different. Imagine that fully half the population potentially wants something from you, be it your attention or something more, that they have no right to expect, and yet you’re the asshole if you don’t play along.)

Now. Sometimes I love attention from men. But when it’s respectful and when I clearly indicate that I want it. Guys, here is how you tell if a girl is interested: if she makes direct eye contact with you, smiles, and asks you questions, then she probably wouldn’t mind getting to know you. (If you’re British and you’re in America, you’re pretty much given an automatic green light. This is a half-joke.) If she’s mumbling, looking down, closing off her space to you, and gives short answers, she wants you to leave. She’s just been conditioned to think that she can’t say, “Get the fuck away from me.” There are LOTS OF WOMEN, I KNOW, WHO CAN SAY THAT. And who have every right. But I’m just not one of them. I can’t. I have to to think of myself first. I can’t worry that you, strange man in a bar, is going to flip out when I reject you harshly.

Jokes aside (see, feminists can be funny!), it ought to be a pretty simple concept: No means no.

Anyway, me. Throughout the grim timeline above many other things happened, most of them happier, some even wonderful. I lived my life and raised my daughter into a brilliant young woman and had flawed relationships and finally found my really, really for true love at 41*. But all that time I encountered even more of those subtle messages that seem a lot less subtle when people point them out. Like the very real fact that on average, women in the U.S. still earn a lot less money than men doing the same job; that until recently women in the U.S. paid higher insurance premiums than men; that among many men the word “woman” is an insult, and that boys and girls grow up hearing things like “stop crying like a little girl” so we can keep that cycle chugging along; that men who sleep around brag about it and get high-fives from their friends, but women who do the same are sluts or whores (and women who don’t put out are clearly frigid or just prudish or lesbians, and oh yeah, nothing wrong with a lesbian that a good stiff cock can’t fix); that the same behavior called “assertive” in men is termed “bitchy” in women. I could go on and on. And I will–just you wait.

And in all these years I have never called myself a feminist. Not because I wasn’t in favor of equality, but because I didn’t particularly want to be lumped in with those strident women (often referred to as Angry Feminists) who could never seem to shut up about what was sexist. That’s not to say I didn’t speak out when I saw inequity. I quit one of my first jobs (leaving behind a very angry resignation letter) after watching my manager pass up women who had worked there for years for promotion over and over again in favor of young men hired weeks before. I was outraged, you see. I seriously thought this kind of thing didn’t happen anymore.

Then I watched as the industry I’ve worked in for over two decades spawned a culture of misogyny and abuse that has largely gone unchallenged by the professional community. Online gaming servers are rife with everything from codified rape culture (i.e. game messages that actually say things like “You got raped by BigDog1999” and players being banned from their servers for complaining about it) to sexual harassment of women by male gamers written off by the community as “just the way it is” or “free speech” of all things. Only recently is some of this coming to light, with major influencers like Penny Arcade choosing to take the low road at pretty much every opportunity.

And I watched the Internet birth a subculture of misogynist trolls who seem to feed off a sense that they’re causing their female targets pain, anger, or even fear. Let a woman even announce that she plans, at sometime in the future, to release a video examining the roles of women in video games, and they pour out of the woodwork like cockroaches. Simply having an online presence as a woman can mean enduring a regular routine of insults and threats via Twitter, email, etc. Appear on television like my daughter and her roommates did once a few years ago, and the trolls flock to their keyboards to comment on your weight (fat bitches) your attractiveness (I wouldn’t fuck that with a rented dick) and whatever else their rotted little brains can conceive.

Now, at 47, I’m finally realizing–really realizing–that to be a girl or a woman in this country (and much of the world) is to be a member of a class still fighting for its civil rights, and also to be subject to a lot of really fucking difficult crap that someone who’s not a woman probably can’t understand. And not only do I identify as a feminist, I am becoming an Angry Feminist. I’m completely fed up with the double-standards, the condescension, the dirty politics, the constant barrage of media messages, the way we’ve been taught to be quiet and polite and how that keeps us from speaking up when we have something to say and the way some men take advantage of that fact to bulldoze us. And when we do speak up–when something really matters and we sit in a room full of men to make our cases–heaven forbid we should show any emotion.

Lucky for me, the quiet and polite training didn’t take. I’ve always had a habit of speaking my mind–but that hasn’t stopped some overbearing men from shouting me down (and some of these are men who probably consider themselves progressive if not feminist and certainly not sexist or misogynist). And I’m ready to talk about all this stuff. I don’t intend to take every single person I meet to task for every act or word that might be interpreted as sexist or damaging to girls and women, but if I think it’s important, I’ll write about it. You bet I will.

So, yeah. This is my story, the Bad Parts version, by way of explaining how I got here, to this place, to this website, and also because I think we have to talk about it–the good, the bad, the horrifying–if we want things to change. It took me nearly half a century to wake up, but here I am in my bathrobe, drinking my coffee, working out a plan for the next 50 years. I don’t care what names people call me or what assumptions they make. I don’t hate men. I love men. (Yes, some men have done terrible things to me, but far more have been my friends and family and colleagues and mentors and heroes.) But I have no tolerance for misogynists and misogynistic policies and attitudes which are so commonplace and accepted in these oh-so-superior and socially advanced United States that some men (and women!) engage in them without even realizing it. I want to help change that.

I recently saw a wonderful TEDTalk by Courtney Martin of Feministing.com (if you want to see misogyny in action, have a look at the comments) in which she talked about this overwhelm I’m feeling. That sense that there’s just too much wrong for one person to make a difference. Her advice is to “act in the face of overwhelm.” That’s what I’m doing. I will fight this war on as many fronts as I have to so that maybe my granddaughters won’t grow up thinking that the world views them as somehow less. So that media stops treating us as objects and our culture starts treating us like equal members of society. So we can walk down the street without feeling like prey.

NOTE: For those of you tempted to bring up the fact that men have it rough too and there are policies that are unfair to men, rest assured that I am aware. That’s not what this article, this conversation, this blog, is about. There are all kinds of inequities in the world. I know that. But in my country, the United States of America, a lot of rich white men and their corporate sponsors are making decisions about women’s health without involving women in the conversation. Teenage boys think it’s cool to talk about slappin’ bitches and hos. Rape is still a punchline and a sports analogy. That’s the conversation I’m having here**, and this is my house. If you want to talk about misandry or the evils of feminism, go start your own blog.

After I originally commented I seem to have clicked the -Notify me when new comments
are added- checkbox and from now on whenever a comment is added I
recieve 4 emails with the exact same comment. There has
to be a way you can remove me from that service? Appreciate it!

Oh my God. Is this truly your life? I am in a completely shock. I think it is amazing that you are sharing this with others because I am sure that your story will help many women. You seem to be a very strong woman who survived. You are a surviver.

What I am surprised is that these kind of stories happen in the US, one of the most developed and richest countries. I grew up in a developing country, which is still even far from any Western country and I never met a single woman who went through the experience like this. Yes, I was groped once on a public bus when I was 10 and I thought that was the worst thing that could happen to a child (I took a bus on my own at that age too). But what you went through is a systematic abuse/rape. How can this happen to one person in such an extensity? It blows my mind. I am so disgusting with humans. I cannot imagine so many men out there acting like that, being worse than animals.

Besides teaching young girls how to avoid becoming a next victim, I think it is also very important to make sure that they stay in school and avoid teenage pregnancies. Yes, bad things happened in colleges and in adult lives as well, but if they get educated, then they have a chance in a society to get out of bad neighborhoods and have a better life with no rapes, no abusive relationships, etc. I wish you all the best. You are an amazing woman and many admire your strength.

Reading the “Bad Parts”, my heart was in my throat and I had trouble catching my breath the entire time. If it wasn’t 2am, I’d be calling my 13 year old niece right now, telling her how much I love her and that her body is HERS, no one elses, and that no matter what happens in her life, I will always be her advocate. I want to make the world better for her and you are doing just that by bringing awareness to the issues women face. Thank you for your strength and courage.

I hope you called your niece and had that talk, or will sometime soon. While it’s important to teach girls to be careful, it’s also important to teach them to fight the culture that tells them they were put on this earth for men’s pleasure. With an aunt like you, she’ll have the weapons she needs. Thank you for reading and for your words.

This was a very powerful post. Thank you for doing what you do.
To say that maintaining and actively engaging in a dialogue for women’s rights is important is a gross understatement. I haven’t experienced anything close to what you have in terms of literally being treated like prey. Your ability to endure such atrocities and still see the good in men is inspiring. I have seen more than my share of misogyny in the workplace, and it sickens me that this is a reality I still have to face as a woman in 2013.
It takes great courage to come forth and share your stories with the world. Thank you.

Thank you! I’ve had some amazing men in my life, and they tend to balance my perspective, I guess. Yes, it’s incredible that we still have to fight these battles in the 21st century, and sometimes I wonder whether it’s possible to win, and then I see tiny signs of change like Spring after a long Winter, and I have hope.

I really like your blog (though I’ve only just stumbled upon it).
Reading all the comments, I could just cry, because I can identify with some of the things that other bloggers have been through.
That these things happen is not okay. It’s a basic human right to be able to go out and enjoy yourself, take public transportation, and be safe.

I do face misogyny and sexist comments at work from certain co-workers about my appearance or clothing, and I don’t really know how to deal with it. In my male dominated staff room, if I get upset about it, I would be considered dramatic, OTT, hysterical, so I just let it slide. Most of my male co-workers are all right, but it can really get you down sometimes.

But reading all these comments gives me the courage to keep going, so, thank you!

There was a conversation yesterday on Twitter under the hashtag #IAskedPolitely. I encourage everyone to check it out. I can totally relate to what you go through in your work environment, and it’s not ok. Thanks for reading and sharing your story.

You are so brave to have shared all this, and I for one love you for doing so.

As a white male who has grown up in a different universe with a different set of rules and expectations, I struggle sometimes to grok what it is really like for women in our culture. I have been lucky to have smart, strong, and empathetic females in my life — my mother, sister, partner, and two daughters. It is *important* to me to help make the world a better place for my loved ones.

Thank you for shedding some more light on what things are like for girls.

Thank you for sharing this. Against all odds, I was born an Angry Feminist™ to an “I’m not a feminist” community in the mid-80s during the backlash. I think your blog is amazing, and it’s great to have your voice and story along in the fight.

I find it sad that my “privilege” among women is not being sexually or emotionally abused or assaulted. It shouldn’t be a privilege at all to “be lucky” to have not had that happen but a basic human right. I don’t have anything of significance to contribute on this post, but I’m grateful to you for it.

As a guy I always feel furious and impatient with my gender when I read stuff like this, but then I remember that the best thing I can do is educate other guys about the depth of the problem and what they can do to take a stand against it. Your piece is an important tool for helping me do so. So thanks again.

Sometimes with an emotional post like this I get overwhelmed and neglect to respond to comments. I apologize for that. This one is so thoughtful and I am grateful for it. I’m so glad you came and read and shared. Thank you.

I’m seriously at a loss right now. I feel like a fool. I feel used and betrayed. I’m a textbook example of conditioning. I can’t even wrap my head around how naive I’ve been. I honestly need to think this through for a while and process these words and feelings- but I will say this, my 3yo daughter will know how to stand up for herself. The cycle of submissive women in this family stops RIGHT NOW. Thank you so much for writing this post and thank you to all the people who left comments.

Oh Rosie…I generally do not read long posts. I start them and tend to get bored. But I could not stop reading this…and like so many others had to keep wiping the tears so I could continue to read.

While I did not have the things that happened to you happen to me I too was the “slut” of the school and I too had my child (a son) at a very young age. But damnit he was raised to respect women (and men). We had many talks of many things…many of which embarrassed him or that he felt were not really necessary topics. Too bad buddy…he was going to hear me roar whether he liked it or not. He now has a teenage daughter of his own (and now a granddaughter) and I think he finally gets it!

While in my 30’s I was the professional feminist and was damn proud of it! While having given up on the radical portion of that I still believe that women must be together on these issues – we must not be afraid to stand up as a whole and let everyone know how we feel, how we think and how things absolutely must change.

Rosie, your story is powerful and powerfully and beautifully written. Thank your for putting it out there for us.

Thanks so much, Kendra, both for reading and for sharing some of your story here. I’m trying to find a balance between my anger and frustration and my need to build bridges and change hearts and minds. It’s not easy. I appreciate your support.

Thank you. I very much appreciate your support and your comments and I agree. I run into a lot of bullshit attempts to derail conversations, and I want to be very clear that I’m not interested. I understand that bad things happen to men. I know men go to war and die. I know men are victims of violence, sometimes even at the hands of women. But men are not, as a rule, a) harassed when they walk down the street, b) scrutinized and criticized publicly for their weight, attire, hair, and makeup, or lack thereof, c) expected to politely deal with one entitled person after another who thinks “nice ass” is a compliment, or asks repeatedly for your number, or drops yet another tired pickup line, or won’t take “no thanks” for an answer when you don’t want to dance, who push for whatever it is they want even after you’ve said “no” repeatedly, and turn insulting or even threatening when you resort to less polite methods. Etc. Thanks for getting it, and for reading, and for commenting. I hope you’ll drop by again.

I don’t have anything useful to say about the main part of your story apart from thanking you for your courage in sharing it. A note about your PS: Good for you for saying, “my house, my rules.” A while ago there was a profoundly misguided notion that bloggers weren’t supposed to delete others’ comments — they had to take whatever was dished out. This was ridiculous and profoundly naive.

Re: “Misandry” — anyone bringing that up is making a making a bullshit attempt to derail the conversation, and needs to be cut off at the knees. Dozens of countries around the world discriminate against women as a matter of LAW. Not one single country discriminates against men as a matter of law. It is a NON-ISSUE. Yeah, there are some women who hate men; BFD. Do you see them on Xbox Live Chat? No, you don’t. Men have ZERO excuse for bringing up “misandry.” It is statistically insignificant.

Your way with words is amazing. I am truly in awe. The creeps seems to find their targets so easily. I often felt when I was young that I had some look that said “hey I am a victim” The biggest thing I learned when I was in Jr. High is make noise. When yet another man tired to make me a victim and I screamed and yelled NOT AGAIN LEAVE ME ALONE. He couldn’t get away fast enough. I so wish I learned that earlier!

Thanks for posting this–I have re-posted, but I did not really address the professional side of the post. As a person who has been working in the gaming industry since the early 1990’s, I’ll admit that I have little patience for the new generation of men and boys who use their toxicity to try and exclude women from the hobby or the workplace.

Culturally speaking, these men are no different than the Islamic men who have ramped up the violence against girls and women to try and chase them back into the seraglio and keep them from seeking an education or taking control of their own sexuality or professional lives.

All gendered violence is terrorism, be it verbal or physical. Difficult as it is to be courageous, you can’t give in to terrorists. Nothing is worth it.

Excellent points. The whole misogynist troll thing seems almost epidemic among gamers. As professionals, women and men of of the industry which these people claim to love so much, we need to come together and address this. I’m ready.

There are not enough hugs in the world to express how I feel right now. I am so sorry for what you went through.

(And for myself, too, as parts of this hit rather close to home.)

As far as the larger cultural picture goes, I’ve made some of these very same points in private conversations with certain key men in my life, thinking that because they’re generally Good Guys — you know, the sort who are horrified by any sort of rape or physical abuse — that they might be open to learning about the more subtle forms of misogyny …

… and come away frustrated and despairing at the lack of comprehension — and more, the outright rejection — of the idea that the experience of a female in our society today is meaningfully different from that of a male.

And heaven help me if I suggest that they themselves might be unwitting perpetrators of misogyny in any form. They believe their good intentions make their actions unassailable, so therefore I must be overreacting.

Still, I go on trying, from time to time. Thanks for providing some additional material. Maybe if enough women say the same damn things enough damn times, the light will start to dawn.

Thank you so much. Your comment puts voice to a frustration I experience far too often. The idea that they might be unwitting participants in a culture that is damaging to women is more threatening to them as an accusation (an assault to their ego) than as an actual problem they might have the power to help solve. How do you get past the ego (if that’s what it is) to the person inside? What will it take for these men to understand that the world is a different place for us than it is for them? How do we draw them that picture?

Thank you. My story is very much like yours. I used to think that I was the only one. I am so terrified for my daughter (6) and the world that she is growing up in. We’ve tried so hard to teach her to be strong, but sometimes it doesn’t work.

I know this is disjointed and short, but I don’t know how to say what I want to say. I really haven’t spoken of my experiences to ANYONE because of the shame I feel from being a victim. It was always my fault in my own mind. Thank you for your bravery.

So glad you decided to leave a comment, E. All of us need to remember we’re not alone, and those stories we told ourselves about whose fault it was were lies planted there by our predators and our own ignorance of the workings of the world. I truly believe that talking about this together is one of the things that will heal us and bury those lies once and for all. Thank you for *your* bravery in speaking out here.

I saw the headline for this post last night (I only started to read your blog a few days ago), and put off reading it until today, suspecting it might be a bit heavy. But reading it through it feels like a story from a war zone like Bosnia or Rwanda or something. Your matter-of-fact tone of voice only makes it more poignant; it’s like your story needs to be told but it’s too painful to get emotional about it.

It also makes me furious. I got a 18 month old daughter and if anyone would even threaten to hurt her I’d go ballistic (much like your cousin with the baseball bat). And how can anyone look at young kids and think it’s ok to hurt, humiliate and violate them? What kind of person does that? (I’m guessing they might have had a rough past, but I simply don’t care.)

Calming down, I’m left with an urge to bring up my daughter in a way so she knows she’s loved and respected; teach her that she can accomplish even hard and difficult things if she really wants to, and that no one never ever should be allowed to decide how she should think or feel.

I’m glad I read this post, and I’m glad your life is better now. You sure as hell deserve it.

Thank you so much for this. I realized years ago that my matter-of-fact tone comes from telling these stories over and over again as though I’m explaining the plot to a movie, not something that happened to me. I went through a process a few years ago of trying to give myself permission to remember that these things really did happen to me, and I did some long-overdue crying. But the stories still come out in that detached voice–the only voice I have for telling them, I guess.

Thank you for reading. I’m so glad your daughter will grow up with a father who is aware of the challenges she will face, and is ready to help her face them.

dear Rosie, I was linked to this post by the lovely lucysfootball, and I want you to know that it moved me so much it’s taken me two days to sit with it before I could come back and tell you what it meant to me. Saying “thank you for sharing” seems like a very bland thing to say when what I really mean is “thank you for opening up these doors inside yourself with honesty and generosity and forthrightness and dignity, I feel honored to be able to see even a glimpse of the things you carry with you.” I don’t know. Words are not good at expressing what it’s like to be really shifted, internally, by something you’ve read. I am like manderay in that I have been lucky, and I don’t ever, EVER want to take that for granted, and your writing just broke me right down. I would like to ask your permission to link to and possibly quote this piece in a post I have been thinking about for a very long time about privacy and the body and the ways that both those things are taken away from us.

Thank you, thank you for writing this – and for being funny and wise and brave and eloquent and making me cry, oh child of Disney that I am, over something that’s true.

Thank you so much for this wonderful comment. I am a child of Disney as well, and it really pissed me off the first time I walked into one of their stores and burst into tears, so I think I know whereof you speak, and I truly appreciate it.

Please feel free to link and quote and share away, and let me know when you do, so I can link back. <3

When I was a kid after the truck guy, I was suspicious of every strange person or car I saw. I don’t feel like that now so much, but there are moments when I plan and plot what I’ll do if something happens (i.e., go all Buffy on their ass).

You, Rosie, are an amazing and wonderful person. And an example to all of us who have been through it, and had to relearn how to have healthy relationships with men.
I hated to read this, although I already knew much of it. but it is important for people to know what happened to so many of us. I love you dearly!
And, we’re grown up, and can stay out as late as we want! ;-)

This post is brilliant and brave, heartbreaking and hopeful. My heart aches that anyone had to endure so much pain, but at the same time it rejoices in the strength of the human spirit — the ability to move beyond the pain and anger to create a life filled with light and love. I am so grateful to you for having the courage to share this story. I know it will bring comfort to others who have gone through similar experiences, and I hope it will help educate people who need to learn what a serious issue this is. Thank you. I honor your talent and strength.

Thank you so much. Already it has been very much worth the time, effort, energy, and everything else that went into writing it and pulling the trigger. I do feel honored by you and everyone who has taken the time to read this, and especially those of you who have taken the time and mustered the courage to leave a comment. <3

Thank you for sharing this. I’ve been lucky enough to have parents and friends who genuinely care about me, and taught me how to protect myself early on. Besides a lot of unwanted attention and the ongoing assumption that my only ambition in life is to be someone’s Good Little Wife, I’ve never really had any abusive interactions with men. I’m grateful for that. But I think it is far past time for this conversation to be had. I too have always hated Angry Feminists. I think men suffer a lot from sexism as well, and it never seemed fair to me that a lot of feminists demand men treat them with respect while they call them Walking Penis Support Systems and useless, evil bastards.

But I’m getting older now, and these issues aren’t getting any better. Sure, I can wear jeans in public without being stoned, but instead I have to hear how amazing my ass does or doesn’t look. I have to worry about whether or not my tits are showing in cold weather. I have to make sure I wear just the right kind of makeup so I don’t look like a trollop. It has never once occurred to me that I might walk down the street alone and as you said, not be considered prey. That realization both horrifies and saddens me, but that said I thank you for bringing it about. It’s something that lived in my subconscious and was never really identified.

And I think that’s the real danger that feminism faces in these times: The fact that the attacks on our rights and our safety is coming at us in a lot more subtle ways. It’s no longer an issue of people coming out and saying easy-to-refute things like “Women can’t vote” or “I would never waste time educating a woman.” It’s easy to fight an enemy that puts themselves right in front of you and says “I’m going to be evil now.” Instead, they’re coming at us sideways now, shiftily, quietly. They’re coming at us with psuedo-reasoning and “facts” and “logic” and using our own insecurities–insecurities that THEY put there–against us. It’s horrifying, and as you so aptly said, overwhelming.

And as a gamer, I loathe the fact that “rape” is used so casually, by both men and women. (I hate the fact the word “faggot” is used in the same casual sense, though that is a different discussion.) It’s not OK to talk like that to another human being. There’s an easy to define line between trash talking and vitriolic, abusive bullshit, but it’s a line everybody likes to ignore because the offenders are in the majority. I see it every fucking day, and I’m sick of it. But what can I say? What can I do? I can report them, and hope that the game admins ban them, but that’s not going to stop them. They make a new account and carry on. Every time you punish them, they revel in the attention and just come back stronger. They’re not going to listen to me when I tell them they’re being hurtful and immature. They don’t care. That’s what they want.

I feel the same helplessness in the face of a lot of political issues women are facing. When it comes down to it, all I can really do is cast my vote somewhere I think it’ll help, but when was the last time a politician wasn’t a filthy liar? The system is hopelessly broken and as someone who isn’t a scum-sucking lobbyist who farts money, what can I do? What can any of us do? I want to make a change, but I don’t know how.

My mom uses the term Professional Feminists to describe people who identify first and foremost as feminists and make it their life’s mission to agitate in favor of women’s suffrage and reparation, meaning they don’t just want balance, they seem to want payback. But I truly believe that they’re in the minority and mostly a bogeyman promoted by people who find feminism threatening for one reason or another. It’s not that I haven’t encountered them, but when I do, they stand out. Maybe it’s just the crowds I hang with.

“It has never once occurred to me that I might walk down the street alone and as you said, not be considered prey.”

This, and the statements after, moved me more than I can tell you. For one thing, I hesitated over that line. I knew I felt it, and I knew others did, but I worried that I needed a disclaimer (“yes I know all men are not predators” in all caps like Almi Rose does in the post I link above). It’s so important that we have this conversation.

Yes, yes, and yes.

With regard to games, I feel like the answer has to be getting the professional community to stand the fuck up and say this is not OK. I really, really want to help make that happen.

What you can do is what you’re doing. Thank you so much for coming here and talking about this. Keep the conversation going. Keep writing stuff like this comment. <3

I like that term, Professional Feminist. It’s very apt. One of my best friends, a girl I’ve known for years and loved like a sister, is slowly becoming one of these. Her entire life is being consumed by a constant crusade for the rights and freedoms of women and the LGBT community. While I firmly believe that these are all wonderful, worthy things, from my point of view it seems to be eating her alive, and it’s making her see Attacks Against Gender where there are none. It’s causing her great anger, all of the time, and she has turned from a creative, sensitive person into someone whose life is falling apart so she clings even harder to the one thing she believes she’s doing right…I can easily see her becoming one of those people who believes that All Men Are Scum, especially since this is an opinion many of her friends hold. It’s a creepy, perverted reversal of roles from the men who are talking about raping women or sending women back to the kitchen and getting the guffaw from their friends which reinforces their bad behavior. It exists on both sides, and it’s one of the major things that has stopped me from identifying myself as a feminist over the years. I’m still not even sure if I want to, for fear of being consumed by that anger which is all too easily accessed. That, and labels generally don’t do much for me–I am myself, living my life, doing my best to be an ethical and kind person. I don’t need to call myself Item B or Person A. But, by the same token…these things need to be talked about. We can’t just say “Oh, well, bras were burned and we can vote now, time to relax and not care about anything anymore!” I guess if that makes me a feminist, then so be it. The label really isn’t important. I just want these horrible things to stop.

I also truly want an effective and efficient way to reshape the gaming community. We’ve all been ignoring this problem for far too long. It’s assumed that if you’re a female gamer, you’re either only playing because the game involves cute fluffy animals or clothes. If you want to play a game for some other reason, you have to whip out your Gaming Pedigree and prove–usually by emphasizing how many violent shoot-em-ups you’ve played, aka “real” games–that you belong there. Not everyone is like that, but so many more are. If you’re a high profile female gamer, and you fall on the hardcore side of it, people honestly assume you’re not really a gamer. They challenge you constantly, either through angry threats or “jokes”. They assume someone else is getting those high scores for you, or worse, if they can’t prove that you’re really not a gamer, then you’re just doing it for the attention. You’re a “gaming slut”, someone who wants men to like them so they pose with a controller and a few screen shots. (A lot of gaming girl groups play off of this, which I don’t think makes things any better. After all, guys don’t have to wear revealing clothes or emphasize their chests in order to be considered valid gamers…quite the opposite, generally.) Or worse, (and I hate this more than anything) female gamers are forced into the role of the cutesey idiot. “Oh I just don’t know what I’m doing I’m so bad at games! Teehee! Aren’t I adorable!” And then everyone fawns over them because they’re non-threatening and “protectable”. It makes me absolutely sick. I want a way to change all of it. I haven’t found one yet, but I think the time is coming soon. I think capacity has been reached, and we’re going to see some real changes soon. If not, then I’m getting out my Bazooka of Righteousness +2 and exploding some heads.

As for the prey comment…I’m truly grateful for you using it. Like you said, I love men. I know some truly amazing, awesome men, who have been good to me and who have enriched my life significantly; men who wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a woman. I want to protect them from people who say that they’re evil just because they have a penis. They get enough of that from their mothers and their churches. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m scared to go out alone. I can never go to a bar, or a rock concert, or even on a cool evening walk by myself. That’s just something You Don’t Do. And I never really even thought about it until I saw it in print. And then I thought to myself…what would it be like not to feel that way anymore? And as I imagined it, I felt a huge burden lifting off of my shoulders. Maybe someday, I’ll get to feel that way for real. And if I can’t, then maybe the next generation can. I think maybe I’d do anything to make that happen.

I am almost not against anything you said but about the gaming parts…
people call “cutesey idiot. ‘Oh I just don’t know what I’m doing I’m so bad at games! Teehee! Aren’t I adorable!'” gaming sluts who shows skin and cleavage (If you go and check now on twitch.tv you’d see a lot of females pointing their cameras to their breasts instead of face) to attract viewers mostly on online streaming websites.

“They challenge you constantly, either through angry threats or ‘jokes’. They assume someone else is getting those high scores for you” Not only females are accused of boosting, every arrogant person you’re better than in a certain game accuses you of hacks or boosting.. I’ve been accused many times.

“It’s assumed that if you’re a female gamer, you’re either only playing because the game involves cute fluffy animals or clothes.” Almost every MMO I’ve played (and I’ve played plenty) had females in their TOP 10 players, and every one Males and Females treated them with respect and every player (Male or female) that is not good at playing a certain game gets the “Noob, uninstall this game you worthless shit go play Tetris or pony games”..

“guys don’t have to wear revealing clothes or emphasize their chests in order to be considered valid gamers…quite the opposite, generally.)” Any guy who have revealed their body while streaming gets called gay (This is the reason most people avoid doing it), if the guy keeps on doing it they eventually stop calling him gay and start calling him manly, like I said before females who “wear revealing clothes or emphasize their chests” are not called gamers, they’re called gaming sluts or attention whores..

TL;DR: Almost everything you’ve said about female gamers mostly applies to males gamers as well.

If you want to know what type of assholes exists on internet spend some time in the most disgusting parts of 4chan.. you’ll get out depressed hating every one on the internet.. My point on this is that no one can change the internet, people have more freedom on internet than in real life and 4chan is the best example of what too much freedom results in.

I didn’t mean to offend anyone with this long text of wall, and I am sorry if I have
Peace.

TL;DR I know what I’m talking about and don’t need you to tell me (Or anyone else) what parts of the internet to visit in order to “learn” your amazingly uninteresting and unoriginal world view. In fact you’ve spouted the exact same lines of bullshit that all of the other trolls do, not to mention you’ve pulled a classic “BUT WHAT ABOUT THE MENZZZZ” argument. So do us all a favor and go ply your trade underneath someone else’s bridge, kiddo, because I guarantee you’ll find no sympathy here.

I seek no sympathy, all I say is that you’re exactly what you said “you feared to be” A “feminist who thinks of all men as scum” and your idea of “Changing the gaming world” is very stupid.

Anyways, I saw this blog in one of the “Related” links in another blog so I’ll avoid commenting any further as I did not come here intentionally, but know that I know how it feels to be in fear of others with no one to go to for help, my mother was a strict feminist who viewed me as an abomination, I had no contact with any other female except my mother and family members all my life I was self dependent, I was taken to all male school and when I grew to age of 14 and found out about sexual pleasures of masturbating she beat me up and threatened to kill me if I did it again, my internet/laptop and toys (Consoles) were taken away from me, I lived almost a full year like that till she returned it back to me, at that time I started learning some programming languages (Started with C and went on to C#) and at age of 17 I ran away from home and now am working a decent job as an IT manager and I also control network administration.

Once again I’ll tell you “I seek no sympathy” here, what I said here was to tell you that I used to hate women but I knew not all were like my family, you thinking like “all men are scum” will make you like my mother..

Sorry sweetheart, but I don’t think all men are scum…just the ones who act like you do. :) Or did you think it would be a new and exciting experience for me to be told what I think, feel, and believe by a total stranger? Off you go back to Reddit now. I’m sure they dearly miss your witty, slut-shaming repartee.

(Also, major LOL at “I seek no sympathy..but let me tell you the entire story of my life anyway.” In honor of your desire not to receive sympathy, I skipped reading the entire thing. Hope that helps!)

I’ve lived some of this. You were there beside me when I was going through it; I was there beside you when you were. We just didn’t know it at the time. The important part is, we know it now. We made it. And they didn’t count on how loud we’d turn out, now did they? We’re their worst nightmares because we have brains and we have mouths and we have lungs and we USE them. To make things better. So other girls/women don’t have to go through what we did, and so they know they’re not alone.